


Without Giving Anything Away

by Chash



Series: You Didn't Even Hesitate [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Frontier, F/M, Mail Order Brides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Octavia gets married and leaves home, she's worried Bellamy won't be able to handle the ranch on his own. So she talks him into putting an ad in the paper to see if he can find a wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Giving Anything Away

**Author's Note:**

> Getting through the backlog of things I wrote while I was out of town! This is kind of vaguely based on a movie I saw when I was in grad school that I think was just called Mail Order Bride? I was drunk, it's hard to remember. It's also just based on fandom cliches. It's absolutely not based on history at all, although it sort of nominally takes place on the western frontier and pays some lip service to, like, how things were. But mostly it's fluff. I feel like all my disclaimers end like this. Spoilers: fluff.

Bellamy's first thought when he sees her is that she's too delicate to be his wife.

She's pale, the pale of someone who has never worked outside, with curling golden hair and soft features. She's not the sort of woman they see out here often, and if he wanted her for a status symbol, she'd be perfect. But he needs her to _help_ , and he's sure she'll be fleeing back to the city in under a week.

Then she looks up, and he sees her eyes for the first time--fierce and clear blue. He's seen steel like that in people's eyes before, and knows what it means. She's a fighter, for all she looks like a proper lady.

She raises one eyebrow at him, a challenge, and he takes his hat off to approach her.

Bellamy knows what women see when they look at him. What everyone sees, really. They see the signs of his father in him, the darkness of his features, the shade of his skin, and wonder where he came from and what he thinks he's doing here. It's part of why he came out west in the first place, so he could get his own land and work, so he could walk the streets with his sister without anyone thinking he must be up to something.

A woman who replies to postings for a wife in the classified section couldn't have had high hopes for a husband, but he can't help his anxiety. Still, if she's disappointed or upset, she shows no sign of it.

"Miss Jacobs?" he asks, even though it must be her. This is the train she said she'd take, and there's no other reason for someone like her to come to a place like this.

Her mouth twists in a wry smile, and the expression looks natural on her face, which makes him feel more at ease. "If we're getting married, you may as well call me Clarke. I won't be keeping my maiden name for long, I assume." Then she seems to remember her manners, and drops a curtsy. "Mr. Blake."

"If we're getting married, it's Bellamy." He wets his lips, not sure how to go on. They exchanged a few letters, where he told her about the ranch and she told him--very little, truth to tell. Her name, Clarke Jacobs, her age, nineteen, and her desire to leave her home. She'd told him she was looking forward to seeing the west, and when she'd arrive, and that was all. "We're to go straight to the courthouse," he says. "They're waiting for us."

She nods, apparently not put out by the rush, but he can't help a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

"I'd prefer to wait, to let you see if you like it out here," he says, voice coming out rough. "But for all we're loose about propriety here, I think I'd cause a scandal, bringing you home with me if we weren't properly married."

She flashes the same wry smile at him. "I was expecting to marry you," she says. "I wouldn't have come if I wasn't willing to stay."

He thinks about mentioning there are plenty who come out here and realize they can't stand it, but that look in her eyes keeps him quiet. She'd stay just to prove she could.

"Let me take your trunk, then," he says, and slings it onto the cart. "We're in the closest we get to a city out here," he tells her as they start moving. "Arksville. Named for the founder, who died a week later, with nothing else to his name."

She smiles at that, with no edge at all, just amusement. "A major part of local history, I can tell."

"He taught the citizens one very important lesson before he died," Bellamy says, grave.

"Oh?"

"Boil your water before you drink it."

She laughs at that, a surprised, bubbling laugh, and Bellamy feels himself flush with pride. He's not an entirely unsociable man, but he's never spent much time with women. He came out here eight years ago, after his mother died, dragging his little sister after him, and women are few and far between. There's Raven, who came out following a fiancé who never arrived himself, and took up the post of town smith, proving herself just as capable as any man, and Lexa, who's only ever said society didn't suit her.

And Octavia, of course, but she's his sister, not a _woman_. Everyone else was a married woman already when she arrived, and Bellamy knows how to treat married women, so long as they aren't married to _him_.

His own marriage had been Octavia's idea; she'd been the one who helped him with the ranch, but she recently married herself, and now she has her own home, her own life, and he has more work than he can handle. And, if he's honest, it's a little lonely. He was going to just hire someone, but Octavia insisted he needed more than just an employee. He hadn't really agreed, but she'd been so adamant about the whole affair that he wrote up the advertisement just to stop her asking him about it.

And now, here's Clarke.

"Even I know to boil drinking water," she says, the amusement still on her lips.

"Have you ever--" he starts, and tries to decide the best way to phrase the question. "You wrote you've always lived in the city. Do you have any experience at all of--" He gives up and just gestures.

The wryness comes back to her smile. "No. But I'm not afraid of hard work."

He can't help a snort at that. "Not to doubt you, but--I've most often heard that from people who have never tried it."

To his relief, she doesn't look offended. If anything, she seems a little embarrassed. "If you wanted a wife accustomed to this lifestyle, you went looking for one in entirely the wrong way."

He smiles too. "I never denied that."

He points out the features of the town as they pass them, not that there's so much. The post office, the general store, the blacksmith, the tanner. Clarke nods along, asks sharp questions, seems genuinely interested in everything.

"My sister just married the tanner," he says, watching her closely. "It's made me a little unpopular."

"Oh?"

"There aren't so many unmarried women out here, and plenty of unmarried men. O--that's my sister, Octavia--was one of the better prospects, and there are those who think I shouldn't have let her marry him. He's a freedman."

If Clarke has opinions on the matter, he can't tell from her face. "Did she want to marry him?" she asks instead.

He snorts. "I've never in my life managed to make my sister do anything she doesn't want to do."

Clarke actually grins at that, and the expression lights up her whole face. She's _lovely_ ; surely there must have been someone back east who wanted to marry her. They must have been lining up.

"How old is she?"

"Eighteen."

"And you're twenty-four."

"I am. We came out here when I was sixteen, after Ma died."

"And your sister was the only unmarried woman left in the area?"

"Not quite. Raven, she's the blacksmith, she's as good as married, but they haven't made it official. And Lexa's out on the ranch, but I think she came out here because she wasn't interested in marriage at all. No one who tried had any luck."

"You didn't try."

Bellamy glances at her. "Listen, Clarke. I wasn't--I've never been too bothered about marriage. Like I said in the posting, I need help around the ranch. It's a job. I want a wife to do work, not for pleasure."

"It seems like a waste to have a wife you won't enjoy," she says, voice light, and hops out of the cart when he stops, without waiting for him to help her down.

Bellamy stares after her for a minute before he collects himself to follow.

The ceremony is short and perfunctory. Miller performs it, smirking at Bellamy the whole time, and Bellamy barely resists the urge to make a rude gesture at him. It wouldn't be the best way to start his marriage.

Clarke is calm and composed, repeating the lines Miller gives her in a clear, steady voice. The only time she falters is when he puts the ring on her finger, her eyes widening as if she hasn't expected him to have one. He spots her looking at it as Miller finishes up, and then he leans in to press a dry kiss to her lips.

Someone whoops.

He startles away from Clarke and turns to see Octavia, beaming.

"I can't believe you didn't invite me to your wedding!" she says, beaming. "Monty was your witness?"

"He was already here," says Bellamy, feeling his neck go red. He's still got one of Clarke's hands in his. "Clarke, this is my sister, Octavia."

"Hi!" says Octavia. "You're far too pretty to marry my brother."

"This is why I didn't invite you," Bellamy says, but Clarke is smiling. And she hasn't let go of him.

"I already married him," Clarke says. "It's too late to take it back now."

*

Octavia has always been the more outgoing of the two of them, so she's the one who takes Clarke under her wing, showing her around and introducing her. Bellamy lags behind them, feeling eyes on him every time Octavia says, "Bell's wife."

He gets looks ranging from disbelieving to dirty from the unattached men they encounter, while the women tend more toward a kind of patronizing pity, aimed at Clarke.

"Nice job, Blake," is Raven's comment. "The mail-order ones aren't usually so good-looking."

"Raven," he says, warning, but Clarke laughs.

"How many of us are there out here?" she asks, eyes sparkling in amusement.

"So, that's the question," says Raven. "Bellamy here is the only one admitting to it, but I've got my suspicions about some others." She grins. "Of course, once everyone sees you--"

"And we're leaving," says Bellamy firmly. "Stop being weird about my wife, Raven."

The word feels strange on his tongue, but Clarke smiles at him, and it makes his heart flutter, just a little.

It's incredibly inconvenient, honestly. He'd meant it when he told her this was a business arrangement for him. If he'd hired a man or a boy to help, he'd still have all the household work to do himself, all the things he never learned to do very well. And children will be a necessity too, someday, although he struggles more with that side of it. He does want children, but--not for the convenience of more workers for the ranch. And not if it will give his wife grief.

He shouldn't let himself get distracted with her beauty or her smile. He was clear about what he was looking for in his posting, and that was what Clarke agreed to.

(He tries not to think about her comment about _enjoyment_.)

"I need to take her back and show her the ranch," he says, when it looks like Raven and Octavia might protest. "But we'll see you again soon."

"That wasn't what I expected," Clarke remarks, once they're back in the cart and on their way back. 

"I never know how to warn people about O. You just have to meet her."

Clarke laughs. "I like her. Raven too. I didn't know women became blacksmiths."

"It was kind of an accident. She, uh--I don't know the whole story, but she came here to meet the man she was supposed to marry, and he wasn't here with no forwarding address. The old blacksmith was getting on in years, and his son wasn't good at that part of the work. Raven came along and they both took a shine to her. So she's the blacksmith and the old blacksmith's son is courting her."

"It's nice," Clarke says, with a small, private smile. "Friendly."

Bellamy glances at her. "You haven't started working yet," he says. "Try to remember this part when you're up to your elbows in cow shit." He flushes. "Uh, sorry for--I'll work on--"

"Just say shit, Bellamy," she says, amused, and he slumps back into the seat of the cart. "We ladies do know those words. Besides, I'm here to work, aren't I?" she asks. "If you'd just hired a boy, you'd say whatever you liked in front of him." She grins. "I'll just get better at swearing. I bet Raven would teach me."

"You'd be right," he says, but he's smiling too.

Bellamy is proud of his home. He's worked hard to build it up, from nothing, and now he's almost entirely self-sufficient. He has a few horses and goats, a group of chickens, and a lot of cows and crops.

"This is it," he tells Clarke as they approach, trying not to be nervous. She's already come out here and married him, she probably won't run away just at the sight of his house. But he wants her to like it.

She'd been drowsing a little next to him, doubtless tired from her journey, but she stirs awake at his words. 

"Hm?" she asks, smiling up at him. He _really_ wishes she wasn't so pretty.

"This is it," he says again, nodding his head toward the ranch.

"Oh!" she says, straightening and looking over, eager. "It's lovely."

"Lovely?" he asks, dubious.

"Not--it's exactly what I was hoping for. You have another horse! Will you teach me to ride?"

"You don't know how?"

"I was raised in the city, and my mother felt it wasn't ladylike. She wanted me to learn other things."

"Your mother wanted you to learn to be a lady?" he asks, dubious. He's heard of such attitudes, in books he read Octavia, but he never knew anyone who could afford to raise their children based on anything but practicality.

"How else would I ever make a proper marriage?" she asks, with scorn.

"This isn't much of a proper marriage," he says, mind racing. It's odd, that a woman raised with such values would come out here. "What does your mother think of it?"

"They both gave up on me a long time ago," Clarke says, not taking her eyes off the ranch. He can't read her expression, not with confidence, but the way she's looking at his home makes his mouth go a little dry. He hadn't thought about the possibility of a wife who loved this place like he did, and if Clarke does--he's not sure what he'll do, honestly.

"I guess that explains why they didn't come to the wedding," he says, gruff, and pulls in the cart. He makes to tend to the horses, and Clarke is at his side in an instant.

"Teach me how to do it?" she asks, sounding oddly hopeful, and so he does. He'd assumed she would be too tired for any work today, since she'd nodded off in the cart, but she seems awake now, eager and curious about everything. Bellamy takes her around as he checks in on the animals, shows her the crops and the rest of the grounds. It's not a large place, but Bellamy likes it. It's _his_ in a way he never expected to own anything as a poor boy growing up hungry in the city. And Clarke is sharp and appreciative, taking everything in, intent and interested in all he has to say.

She may not have much experience with this kind of thing, but she's certainly more than willing to learn.

He's outlining his plan for the new chicken coop he's building when he hears her stomach grumble, and he realizes it's gotten late and she's had a long journey and no food.

"Shit," he mutters, and reminds himself not to apologize. "We should--you probably want to eat and go to sleep."

"I want to hear more," she says. "But I _should_ eat and go to sleep."

He smiles. "You should, yes. Come on, I'll show you inside the house."

Bellamy isn't much for cooking, but he has some bread and stew Octavia brought him, and Clarke is hungry enough that if she feels the meal is unsatisfactory, she doesn't care to mention it. She eats eagerly and without any sign of self-consciousness at her appetite; her manners are pretty, but she's clearly a woman who enjoys her food.

Bellamy finds himself watching her more than eating himself, and she gives him a dirty look when she notices, making him smile. He likes people who show their feelings.

"It's good," she says, like a challenge.

"My sister's work. I'm no hand at cooking."

"Which is why you needed a wife." He inclines his head in agreement, expecting her to say something about her own skills, but she turns her attention back to the meal. "Well, I'll pass on my compliments to her, then."

Bellamy wants to ask, but he has his suspicions. Women who look like Clarke don't typically do their own labor. Still, he doesn't think this is the time to discuss it; now that she's eaten, he can see Clarke beginning to droop, weariness written all over her body.

"I'll show you your room," he says, clearing the dishes from the table.

She frowns. " _My_ room?"

"You thought you were sleeping in the attic?" he asks, amused.

"We're married," she says, a blush creeping over her face. "I assumed I would be sharing yours."

Bellamy turns away from her, leading the way up the stairs. "It's not like I'm using Octavia's room anymore," he says. It's not really an answer, but he's not ready to think about her in his bed. He's never had a woman in his bed, not even in a purely euphemistic sense; he knows what his duties as a proper husband would be--his mother made her living on her back too often for him not to know--but he can't think of them right now. Clarke is exhausted, and she shouldn't have to worry about such things tonight.

"Bellamy--"

"We'll talk about it in the morning," he says, and smiles back at her over his shoulder, in case she thinks he's angry. "You look like you're about to fall over."

"I could still fall over in your bed," she mutters, but she doesn't protest when he takes her to the room that was Octavia's, the lure of any bed apparently being enough to distract her from her new place as his wife.

He isn't opposed to the idea of a _wife_ , not really. But he's opposed to Clarke thinking she's obligated to perform any unpleasant duties. And he knows how unpleasant it can be, for women. He'd tried to be clear about his expectations--he'd honestly thought that was why Clarke had responded to him in the first place. That he had wanted a partner more than he wanted a spouse.

It's not worth thinking about. He'll make it clear to her as best he can that it's not necessary for her to do anything for him, aside from work. 

And he'll stop thinking about her in his bed, too. In the morning.

*

Clarke is in the kitchen when he gets downstairs the next morning; he's an early riser, but she went to sleep long before he did, so it's no surprise. The real surprise is how badly she's doing with the cooking. She seems to have put eggs into a skillet, but without any understanding of how she might cook them once they're in there. And he can see more than a few shards of shell that she missed.

"Did you actually get these from the chickens?" he asks, making her jump as he comes up next to her.

"No," she says, sending him a dirty look. "I found them here."

"Good. I don't want to lose my chickens." He takes the skillet from her and looks at it critically. "So, you don't cook," he says.

"I assume it's a skill I can learn," Clarke says, tart. "Just like everything else here."

"What exactly did your mother think would make you likely to land a good marriage?" he asks. "Where I'm from, it's usually _skills_. What were you learning before?"

"I'm excellent at entertaining."

He can't help grinning. "Oh yes, you're _very_ entertaining. This is a disaster," he adds, flipping the eggs and watching as they completely fall apart. "I'll teach you how to get new ones, and then I'm going to show you how to scramble an egg. It's a lot easier to cook them when they're already a mess."

The rest of the day is largely the same. Clarke knows absolutely none of the things Bellamy was hoping his wife would, but she's smart and determined to learn, and once he's showed her the ropes of operations here, she'll do well.

More than that, it's nice to have her around. She's _interested_ in everything, bright and quick. She likes the horses best, but everything is new to her, and her fascination is apparent. Bellamy remembers a similar feeling from his own first days in the west, and it's endearing in ways he tries not to think about.

He'd expected any woman answering his advertisement to be someone like him--poor, practical, and without any other options. Clarke he hasn't figured out yet, but she's certainly no orphan without prospects. From what he can tell, she was wasted as a properly reared young lady, and she must have thought so too. He's glad for it, except that he was completely unprepared for this. He'd hoped for an ally, a kindred spirit, and he thinks Clarke could be both. 

She's just also lovely, and he already finds himself craving her smiles and laughter, her approval, her company. And when he falls into bed at the end of her first full day, he's craving other things as well, despite all his best efforts.

*

It's a rough first week. She sleeps in Octavia's room without comment, which is a blessing, but he's not used to living around another person besides his sister. Living with Octavia was easy; he'd been doing it for so long he barely noticed her. And, of course, she's his sister, which meant he hadn't worried so much about modesty or propriety. The first time Clarke caught him shaving in nothing but his trousers, she turned redder than he'd ever seen a person turn, stammered something about milking, and disappeared until it was time for the midday meal. She did better when she found him chopping wood in a similar state of undress coming home early from a trip into town, but he still felt a rush of guilt when she saw him.

But it evens out after that. He remembers he's living with someone else; Clarke gets more comfortable with her duties and needs less supervision. She goes to Octavia for cooking lessons, but she's progressing slowly, and most nights they still make food together, close and companionable. It's nice, and it does feel like having a partner. Someone he'll be able to rely on, once she has her feet under her.

After three weeks, she says, "Weren't you going to teach me to ride?"

"Was I?" he asks, absent, and she jabs him in the side, making him grin. "We have the cart, you don't need to ride."

"You ride to check on the cows and get out to repair the fences. I can't help if I can't ride."

"You could ride with me," he says, but regrets it at once. If she asked to ride with him, it might drive him insane, having her in front of him on the saddle, her body pressed up against his. He is doing his best to not want her, and it's difficult enough without encouraging her proximity.

"Not if we aren't together when it happens," she says, oblivious. "If you got hurt out there, I'd need to come find you. On a horse."

He laughs. "Yes, fine, you've made your point. It is vitally important that you learn to ride a horse, or I might die."

"I knew you'd see reason."

The truth is, Bellamy hadn't forgotten about the riding request, he just doesn't have a good mount for Clarke. He has the two cart mares, who are good for the work they do, and his own gelding, but he's been working with Lexa to see if he can't find Clarke something a little more her speed. The mares will be fine for learning, but he knows she'll tire of them as soon as she's confident in the saddle. And knowing Clarke, that won't take long.

Of course, he can't just tell her that. It's embarrassing to be getting her a horse of her own without being asked, but if he doesn't warn her, he can at least pretend he just stumbled on the horse, instead of seeking it out.

Luckily for both of them, Lexa finds a likely-looking mare only a week after he starts teaching Clarke to ride, and Bellamy brings her home just as Clarke becomes skilled enough to ride her.

"If you're going to be riding around, you'll need something to ride," he says, and despite his best efforts to be casual, it's obvious Clarke realizes he's gone to some trouble.

"She's beautiful," she breathes, stroking the mare's nose. His breath catches at the smile she gives him when she turns back. "It is a mare, isn't it?"

"She's a mare, yes," he says. "I think she's a good size for you, and just enough attitude to keep you on your toes. A little on the young side, so you'll have to break her in. Good lineage, and--"

Clarke leans up to press her lips against his cheek, which is a mercy, because he was just going to keep babbling until she stopped him.

"Thank you," she says, genuine.

He swallows hard. "Well, you needed a horse."

*

"You know," Octavia observes, "you haven't thanked me yet."

"For what?" he asks. Clarke is in town getting supplies, and Octavia is waiting for her to come back so they can cook--something. Bellamy wasn't really paying attention.

"Clarke! You were convinced you'd never find a good wife, and I know you just wrote that advertisement to stop me asking you about it, but you have Clarke now, and she's perfect for you."

"She's doing well enough," Bellamy says. "Still doesn't know half the stuff you did, but she's good with the animals. And she seems to like the work, I was worried about that."

"I didn't mean for the ranch, I meant for _you_ ," says Octavia. "You're smiling a lot more. Miller and Raven noticed too. It's not a bad thing," she adds, and Bellamy realizes he's frowning. "Your wife is supposed to make you happy."

"She does," he admits, although it feels like a dangerous thing. He swallows. "She is kind of perfect, isn't she?"

Octavia frowns too. "Why do you look more and more upset about this?"

"She's--" He sighs. "She's not really my wife, O."

"You married her."

"I said in the advertisement, I'm interested in a business arrangement, not a love story," he says. "The marriage was for propriety's sake, and so she wouldn't get snapped up by some other desperate bachelor."

Octavia huffs. "Have you asked her opinion on that?"

"She responded to the advertisement, didn't she?"

"But she's met you now! And you should see how she looks at you."

"I have," Bellamy says, trying not to sound too irritable. "She's looking at _me_."

Octavia rolls her eyes, but Clarke gets back before she can say anything, calling out apologies.

"I hope you weren't waiting long," she tells Octavia. "Here," she adds, handing Bellamy a book. "I thought you'd like this." She kisses him on the cheek--she's been doing it more often since he got her the horse--and Bellamy very pointedly doesn't meet his sister's eyes.

*

They've been married for just over three months when Raven finally agrees to marry Wick, and they decide they want to celebrate it, because Raven says it's been too long since they had a good party around here. Octavia's thrilled, of course, but what surprises Bellamy is that Clarke is too.

"What, you don't like parties?" she asks, amused.

"I like them fine," he says. She looks unconvinced, and he can't help grinning. "You don't have siblings, right?"

"No, it's just me."

"Well, sometimes, when you're a brother, you'll dislike something just because your sister likes it. Just to rile her up. I can't explain it. It's just one of those things."

Clarke laughs. "So you don't like parties because Octavia does?"

"I don't hate them. I just always give her a hard time about things." He smiles. "If you're excited, I'm excited."

He even means it until he sees her, all dressed up, hair around her shoulders. He hadn't realized how much she had changed, but she looks like the girl he picked up at the train station again, an impossibility. Women who live out here don't look like Clarke. They can't be happy, married to someone like him.

She twirls a little for him, smiles, self-conscious. "Do I look all right?"

It's still Clarke. He prefers her messy and real, but it's still her under all that.

"You look nice," he says. His voice comes out gruff, but her smile widens, like she thinks it's a good thing.

"What are you wearing?" she asks.

"You're worse than Octavia."

"I didn't get to see you dressed up when we married," she says. "This is my first chance."

"I dressed up for our wedding!" he protests. "I washed my face first and everything."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Go get dressed. You're my husband, I don't want to be embarrassed to be seen with you."

Bellamy does dress himself up, mostly because Clarke looks so good he really _doesn't_ want to embarrass her. He's not convinced he's a good husband, but the least he can do is show her a good time. And the sweep of her eyes over him when he comes down in his nicest suit certainly seems appreciative.

"Why didn't you wear that when we got married?" she teases.

"I didn't want to give you the wrong idea, make you think I'd always be clean and attractive. I prefer to keep your expectations low. This way I can impress you."

Clarke straightens his collar for him. "You always look nice, Bellamy," she tells him, and leads him to the cart. 

The party is already going when they arrive; Raven and Wick were married in private, but they prefer to celebrate in public. They're on the makeshift dance floor, along with Octavia and Lincoln and most of the younger married couples. Monty and Jasper are supplying alcohol, and that's the first place Clarke wants to go.

"You don't want to--" he starts, but Clarke is already taking a glass and throwing it back. "Really?"

"You want one?"

"Does it taste as bad as it smells?"

"Worse," she says, beaming. "Come on, it's a party, Bellamy."

"Just one," he says.

It does taste worse than it smells, but Clarke drags him to dance, laughing and smiling and looking at him like no one else exists in the world, and he can't bring himself to mind. He drinks infrequently enough that the moonshine is having an effect, and it's hard to forget what Octavia said, about how she looks at him.

He thinks about that a lot, if he's honest.

Raven comes over and makes Clarke dance with her, and then she's passed around, dancing with Octavia and Monty and Jasper, and even Miller and Lexa. She fits in here, seems _happy_ here, and Bellamy can't quite believe it. She might _stay_.

She's leaning against him when they leave, flushed with drink and exertion, all smiles.

"See, you had fun," she says.

"I did have fun," he agrees. "Not quite as much as you, but--"

She laughs and presses closer to him, holding on to his arm. "I'm just more fun than you are. It's a fact."

"A fact," he agrees, impossibly fond.

She doesn't let go of him as he takes them home, and when he helps her out of the cart, she reclaims his arm at once. "We're going to stop being stupid," she declares.

"Speak for yourself."

"We're _married_. I'm not going to keep sleeping in your sister's room when there's plenty of room in your bed," she continues, ignoring him. "Your bed looks more comfortable. Larger. It doesn't make any sense. I'm done with it."

Bellamy swallows. "You've been drinking," he says, which doesn't really mean much.

"Yes, that's why I'm going to stop being stupid." She looks up at him, all huge blue eyes and pout. He's never been more aware of the beauty mark on her lip. He's been drinking too. "I can, can't I? Sleep with you."

"If you want to," he says. He couldn't possibly say no to her.

She lets go of him and goes to Octavia's room--she's been sleeping there for three months and he still thinks of it as Octavia's, not hers, because he's been wanting her to share his bed, hasn't he?--and when she comes back to him, she lingers in the door in her night-rail.

He pats the bed next to him and she lights up with a brilliant smile, coming over and curling against his side. 

"I like you, Bellamy Blake," she tells him, already half asleep.

"I like you too," he tells her, and it still feels dishonest. Inadequate. But she smiles and nestles closer, and he falls asleep with his arms around his wife for the first time.

*

She's out of bed before he wakes up the next morning, but he finds her in the kitchen, cooking. She's mastered most ways to cook eggs by now, but scrambled is still her favorite, and she has bacon going as well. He clears his throat, not sure if he's welcome, but she turns to him with a brilliant smile he can't help returning.

"Feeling all right?" he asks, going to stand with her by the stove, like he usually does. "Not too much moonshine?"

"Just the right amount," she says, and leans back against him again. He lets his arm go around her and rests his chin against her shoulder. She's his _wife_. And she doesn't seem to dislike the position.

"It was a nice wedding," he says, for lack of any other conversation to make. "Or a nice party, I suppose. Miller's weddings are always pretty much the same."

"Fast and he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else the entire time?"

"Exactly." He screws up his courage and presses his lips against her jaw, the first time he's kissed her since their wedding, and so chaste it probably barely counts. She's done the same to him more than once, but this is his first time showing her affection. She smiles and squeezes the hand he has on her, and he steps back before she can see his embarrassing smile. "I'm going to go get the cows milked while you finish," he says.

"Of course you are," she says, sounding amused.

He's buzzing with nervous energy all morning, the desire to talk to her and make certain that this means what it thinks he does, that she might feel for him what he feels for her, warring with his nervousness that some part of it is still obligation on her part. The belief that she _has_ to be a wife, instead of wanting it.

Octavia would tell him he was being an idiot.

It's almost noon and he's repairing the back fence when someone comes to visit. Which wouldn't be so remarkable, except it isn't Octavia or Miller or Wick or anyone else he knows. It's an unfamiliar man in a very nice suit. This isn't the kind of man who visits Bellamy. Not unless he's done something wrong, which he hasn't. Not that he can think of.

He takes off his hat and tries his hand at a pleasant smile. "How can I help you, sir?"

"I'm looking for Clarke Griffin."

Bellamy feels his jaw twitch, but he's pretty sure it's not obvious. "There's no one here by that name."

"It's Blake, isn't it? Mr. Blake." Bellamy nods. "I'm Jacob Griffin. Jake. I just want to speak with my daughter."

Bellamy knows the name Jake Griffin. Everyone does. He's one of the richest men in Boston, and Bellamy even knew, in a vague sense, that he had a daughter. He didn't know her name or anything like that, but--he remembers her birth being in papers, when he was younger.

And he knew Clarke must have come from a wealthy family. But he hadn't worried over it too much, because she's an adult who knows her own mind, and her own mind seems to want to stay with him. She wouldn't have to work a day in her life, back home, but she seems to like working. She seems happy.

"She and her mother had an argument," Griffin goes on, when Bellamy doesn't reply. "And I didn't help matters, not stepping in. I just--" He lets out a shaky breath. "I just need to know she's doing all right."

As awful as it is, Bellamy is barely paying attention to Clarke's father. He's too busy thinking about her, and what this means for the two of them. But Griffin is still waiting for his answer. "I'll see if I can find anyone," he says.

Clarke is upstairs, moving her things into Bellamy's room. He's going to say something, but then she smiles at him, and he finds himself trapping her against the wall to kiss her instead.

For all his inexperience with women, he has at least done this before, back when he lived in Philadelphia, and she clearly has some experience of her own, because she surges back against him, kissing him as if she's been waiting for this her entire life.

He loses himself in the kiss for a few perfect minutes, but the scrape of her nails against his hair and her whimper as he slides his hand up her side bring him back to reality, and he pulls back to stare at her.

Then he nearly ruins it and kisses her again when he sees her smile, bright and beautiful and _so fucking happy_ , but he resists. 

"Took you long enough," Clarke says, fond, and he sighs and rubs his thumb against her ribs.

"Your father is here to see you," he says, and hates the way her face falls. He drops his head to rest against the crook of her neck and can't help adding, "We're _not married_ ," because that's all he's been able to think. The marriage license says Clarke Jacobs, and this is Clarke Griffin. They haven't consummated the union. He has no legal claim to her, if her father is here to take her home.

Clarke's hand tightens in his hair, and she presses her lips against his neck. "I thought I'd be harder to find," she says. "If my last name wasn't in the records." He can hear her swallow, this close. "You have to know I'm yours, Bellamy."

He pulls back to kiss her again, just for a second. "You're going to need to tell me what happened. I just left your father in the road."

She smiles a little. "What did he say?"

"That he just wanted to talk to you. Something about a falling-out with your mother. Nothing more than I'd already guessed from what you said. Although I didn't think you were _that_ rich." 

She laughs. "I wasn't going to get any of it. My mother disowned me before I left." Her voice falters, and she looks away. "She caught me with--a girl I liked. Please don't get stupid again," she adds, before he can respond. "I don't prefer women, I just like women too. I wouldn't be here if I preferred women. I would have run off with Lexa." She tucks her hair back. "I was going to tell you. I was just waiting to bed you first."

He actually laughs at that. "Really?"

"In case you were disgusted by my experience with women or turned out to be after my money, I wanted to at least get a good look at you without your clothes on before I left," she says, smirking.

"Best to make sure they don't want your money before they get their clothes off," he says. "Your father is still waiting."

"I know." She kisses him one more time, as if she isn't ready to stop either. "We're getting married again."

"What if he's here to tell you your mother's forgiven you?"

"We'll still get married again. She can disown me for this instead, if she'd like."

She laces their fingers together as she pulls away, surprising him. He'd assumed they'd be having a private conversation, but he won't say no to accompanying her. "He could try to take you back."

Clarke grins over her shoulder. "He's welcome to try."

"What did he think about--what happened?"

"He thought I'd grow out of it. Maybe he thinks I have, marrying you."

"I think running away to marry a rancher you found in the paper hardly counts as an improvement."

"I always was a disappointment," she says.

Clarke's father looks genuinely relieved to see her, as if he'd been worried she might not really be here, that this Clarke really wasn't his daughter. She lets go of Bellamy to return his embrace, but once that's done, she steps back to him, making her loyalties clear.

"You didn't have to go this far, Clarke," her father says. "You didn't have to run away."

"No, I didn't," she agrees. "I wanted to." She considers her father, hesitant without being afraid, and Bellamy's reminded of the first time he saw her, on the platform. She doesn't sound angry, still looks as prim and proper as ever, but there's that steel in her gaze.

It makes her father smile, and Bellamy's opinion of the man improves a little. "This is where you tell me you aren't coming back, isn't it?"

"I didn't know I was being asked back."

"We do love you, Clarke. And we miss you. Your mother--she thought that serious punishment would knock some sense into you." Clarke snorts, and her father inclines his head, like he's agreeing with her. "I should have stepped in."

"I would have left anyway, sooner or later," Clarke says. "It was never for me, all that society stuff. I can do it, but--"

"You like it better out here?" her father asks.

She leans back into Bellamy, just enough to make her preference clear. "This is where I tell you I'm not coming back," she agrees.

Griffin nods, his gaze shifting to Bellamy. "Can I talk to your husband? In private?"

"That's up to him," says Clarke. "But you should probably stay to dinner. I'm getting pretty good at cooking, aren't I?"

"I haven't died yet," Bellamy says, grinning at her, and she throws a rude gesture his direction before heading into the house. He's a terrible influence on her, and now her father knows it.

He doesn't comment on it, though. "You didn't know about the money," he says, halfway between a question and a statement.

"As far as I knew, she was Clarke Jacobs," he says. And then, because he doesn't want to deceive his wife's father, he adds, "I assumed she had money. The way she talked about her family, it just made sense. But I never expected to see any of it. She never brought it up like that."

Griffin nods. "How's she been doing?"

The question catches him off-guard, and he glances at the house without thinking, as if he might see her in there. He looks for her like that a lot, he realizes. He expects her to be nearby, and he likes finding her close to him.

"I think she's doing well," he says. "She seems happy. She's getting better at the work. I think she likes it. She's the kind of person who likes to do things, and--she never told me all that much about her life before, but I got the impression she didn't get her hands dirty very often."

"As often as she could," Griffin says, smiling.

"Did her mother really forgive her?" he asks. "All she ever told me was the two of you gave up on her."

"I thought we could all work it out, if Clarke came home. We could give her some more freedom. It's tough for my wife; she and Clarke are more similar than either of them want to admit. Her mother--well, I think she'd be happier if she could get her hands dirtier than she does. But she found a way to work in society, and I think she always thought Clarke would too. She never expected Clarke would leave."

"Why are you telling me this?" Bellamy finally asks. It's not as if he's not interested, but it's not what he was expecting from a private conversation with Clarke's father.

"She's my daughter and I love her. She's made up her mind, so I'd like her to be happy. And she seems to have decided you're going to do that for her." He grins unexpectedly. "I can't say I ever thought I'd see her marry a stranger, but if she's doing well, I don't mind."

Bellamy feels himself blush. "I will," he promises. "Make her happy."

"Good. Now, why don't you show me around. I've never been on a ranch before."

He shows Clarke's father the place, answering his questions and trying to seem like as good a prospect as he can, given the circumstances. He joins the two of them to eat as well, Clarke beaming as he praises everything she's made, the warm glow she gets whenever she does well at some new task taking over her entire face. Bellamy can't stop looking at her, is sure it's all too noticeable. But she's choosing to stay, even though her parents would take her back, and she's not legally tied to him. 

She's _his_.

Bellamy gives them privacy to say goodbye, but once her father is gone, Clarke finds him in the barn and kisses him again.

He laughs against her mouth. "Nice to see you too," he murmurs, sliding his arms around her.

"I was getting so tired of waiting for you," she says, all fond amusement. "I thought the first few weeks you just didn't enjoy the company of women, but--" She grins. "I caught you looking at me."

He worries his lip. "I thought you answered my posting because you didn't want to have to deal with a real marriage."

"You were interesting," she says. "And it felt honest." Her hands slide up his chest. "But then I saw you."

He ducks his head to kiss her again. "When most people see me, they tend to wonder where I came from and what I'm doing out here."

"Hm," Clarke says, mock-serious. "I wondered what you looked like naked."

He laughs. "Well, you're going to have to marry me again to find out. I don't like not being married to you."

"What's Miller going to say?"

"It's Miller. He never says anything. He just judges us silently." She laughs, and he tugs her in, not willing to let go yet. "I, uh. I do love you," he says.

"Good. Me too."

*

Miller raises his eyebrows when Bellamy says they have to get married again, and Clarke just says, "The first one didn't take."

"This is the third name I've seen you with," Miller remarks.

"Well, I'm going right back to Blake," she says. "So you don't have to remember it for long."

"Just so I've got this right, some rich guy shows up, asks for Clarke, heads out for your place, leaves on the afternoon train, and now I have to remarry you two?"

"I told her you wouldn't say anything," Bellamy grumbles.

"I'm not doing this again," he says. "So is everyone's name right?"

"Just do the damn ceremony, Miller."

It's strange, to be marrying Clarke again. He remembers the first time, how calm and cool she was, and it's strange to realize he knows now that she was nervous and didn't want to show it. Now she's smiling at him, bright-eyed and happy, and he's maybe even a little glad he gets to marry her again, now that they really mean it.

He tries to take the ring off her, and she won't let him, so he just kisses her instead, and Miller tells them to get out of his sight.

They're most of the way home when she says, "Don't think I haven't noticed you're still nervous about taking me to bed."

He feels his cheeks redden. "You have more experience with women than I do, apparently."

"Really?" she asks, but she sounds more delighted than nervous.

"I assume so." He looks resolutely at the road in front of them. "I didn't have much time for that before I came out here, and not much opportunity after I did. And I used to--" He clears his throat. "There was more than once my mother put food on the table, letting men do things to her. She hated it, and it ended up killing her, I always thought. I wasn't in a rush to do that to anyone else. I wasn't interested in making you do anything you didn't want to, and--" He clears is throat. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Especially for my own--enjoyment."

When she doesn't respond for a long time, he risks a glance at her; she's looking thoughtful, not upset. "I'm sorry about your mother," she finally says, careful. "But I know plenty of ways to make things just as enjoyable for a woman as they are for a man." She grins at him, unexpected, and he feels himself relax. "Maybe even more enjoyable."

Bellamy grins back at her. "You're going to have to teach me those."

"Yes," she agrees. "I am."

Of course, she can't do it right away, because they still have things to _do_. As much as Bellamy wants to drag Clarke up to _their_ bedroom and find out exactly what she wants from him, they've lost most of a day of work, and the animals don't care that his wife loves him. They just want to be fed and cared for.

He can't stop smiling the whole time he's working; he'd never been upset about his own future, never thought of it as something bleak or horrible. He has his home and his friends and his sister, and he liked all those things. But--it's nothing like how happy he feels at the prospect of a future with _Clarke_. He's going to get to go to sleep next to her at night and wake up with her in the morning and kiss her whenever he'd like.

Well, except right now. Because there's work to be done.

He makes it back for supper late, just because he had so much to catch up on after the other interruptions of the day, and Clarke smirks at him when he finally comes in.

"I thought you might be avoiding me," she teases.

"I was waiting to see if your mother would show up too," he says, and kisses her. He's only been doing it for a day and kissing her is already one of his favorite things in the world. And it's easier now to think of everything that can come after. She's responsive and eager, and she knows she likes this already. It's an unspeakable relief that she isn't some untouched virgin, because he's quite sure the two of them would make a total mess of things. "Have you been with men before too?" he asks, sliding his mouth down to her throat. "Or just other women?"

"Women are much easier to manage," Clarke says, laughing a little, breathless. "My mother didn't know to monitor those until it was too late."

He laughs too. "I just thought you got away with everything."

"Not quite everything." She pushes him back as he tries to move his mouth lower, laughing. "We should eat first. I'm not going to want to move after."

"You know, in those awful romances Octavia likes, the passion always takes over, once the confessions are out of the way. No one ever waits around to milk the cows or have dinner. I would have just ravished you in the barn."

"And then the cows wouldn't be milked, we'd be hungry, and I'd have straw in intimate places," she says, grinning. "There's something to be said for a little practicality."

It's different, once the initial rush has worn off, though. Bellamy wants her, of course, but it doesn't feel _natural_ , not like it would have earlier, in the heat of the moment. Now it feels like an event. The Consummation.

If Clarke is feeling the same way, she doesn't show it. She just flops onto his bed with a happy sigh. 

"Do you know how many times I thought about just coming in here and telling you this was going to be my room too?" she asks, and he smiles.

Their bed.

"I had no idea," he says. "I thought you liked the arrangement we had."

"I did. But I think I'll prefer this one. Once you stop thinking and come to bed."

"I never stop thinking," he grumbles, but he crosses the room to join her, smiling when she instantly tugs him on top of her for a long kiss. 

"This is a good way to start, if you want a girl to enjoy herself."

"Don't say _a girl_ ," he says. "It's you. Just you."

"Okay, well, kiss _me_ then," she retorts, laughing, and he does. And he feels good at this part, even; Clarke makes small, appreciative noises and lets him take control, and it's easy to feel good about it. Her hands slide up, untucking his shirt and working the buttons, and he returns the favor, letting his own hand skate over her stomach. 

She gets his shirt all the way off and pushes him away long enough that she can get his undershirt off too, and then admire his chest. 

"I didn't realize how--" she starts, letting her fingers trace the muscles on his stomach. Then she grins. "Obviously, there's more to a good marriage than attraction, but I felt very optimistic about things after I saw you shaving."

He laughs and leans down to kiss her neck. "And I've never even gotten to see you in less than your night-rail."

"That wasn't _my_ idea," she grumbles, and pushes him back enough that she can wriggle out of her clothing. Bellamy wants to help, but it's hard for him to think of much of anything when she's moving like that, and revealing so much bare skin for him to take in. He knows what naked women look like, of course, but not like _this_. He didn't know Clarke had another beauty mark on her breast, or that her breasts were--well, he knew they must be perfect, but it's another thing to see them up close. He's leaning down to press his mouth against them before he's had time to think about it, and Clarke tangles her hands in his hair. "That's good too," she murmurs. "I'm sensitive there. Just--" She tugs his hair, moving his head so he's over her nipple, and when he licks it, she moans in appreciation. "Yes, that," she says, with a soft sigh.

He swirls his tongue, curious, wanting to hear all the noises she'll make, and she doesn't disappoint. It's that she sounds so _happy_ that gives him confidence; she's all breathless laughter and squirming and nails raking against his hair, and Bellamy might not know what he's doing, but just doing what he wants seems to be working for her.

"You can," she manages, and then whimpers when he tries the barest scrape of his teeth against her. "You can do that too, but I'm trying to _tell you something_ ," she teases, pulling him back to her for a kiss.

"What?" he asks, grinning.

She takes hold of his wrist and guides his hand between her legs. His fingers slide inside her on instinct, and he groans against his neck at the feel of her, so hot and slick. "When I'm wet like that," she murmurs, hips pushing against his fingers, "that's how you know you're doing a good job. And that's why it won't--" She gasps as he slides his fingers deeper, and he bites her neck. "If I'm wet you won't hurt me," she says. "Or so I'm told. I've only ever tried it with fingers like this. But I've done--"

"What?" he prompts, when she gets too distracted by his hand to finish. 

" _Bellamy_ ," she moans, and it's so much better than he realized it would be, her saying his name in that broken voice, the sure knowledge he's the one doing this to her.

"I want to hear," he says, pulling his fingers out and seeing if he can fit a third inside her. 

She moans again at the stretch of it and slides her own hand down to join his, but higher, rubbing almost desperately. "Fuck, I need--" she starts.

"Tell me," he says, kissing her neck.

"This," she says, laughing a little. "Just--keep going. Fuck."

"Did you always swear this much?" he teases, and drops his mouth back down to her breast.

"Shut _up_ ," she says, and then she's arching off the bed, coming apart on his fingers, and it's the most satisfying thing that's ever happened to him, even without getting anything directly for himself.

Clarke flops back on the bed, one arm over her face, laughing again. "I love your hands."

"Good."

She moves her arm to smile at him, and grins when she sees his expression. "We haven't even gotten you undressed yet."

"I don't care."

"I do," she says. She lets out a long breath and just lies still for a moment, as if she's savoring this, and then she turns them over and gets rid of the rest of his clothing. Her eyes sweep up and down him again, all appreciation.

He'd been ignoring his own arousal, not because he didn't want release, but because touching Clarke was so much more exciting. From the way she's looking at him, she thinks he's more exciting too, and he feels his heart rate racing.

"What did you want?" she asks him, tracing her fingertips up his bare chest, making him shiver a little. 

"This," he says, without thinking, and she laughs and leans in to kiss him. 

"If you don't tell me something else, I'm just going to climb on top of you and keep going until you come," she says, and he groans and lets his head drop back onto the pillow.

"Please do," he manages, and still thinks he might die on the spot when her fingers wrap gently around him. He'd known that she'd been working hard, these last few months, but he can feel it in the new roughness of her hands, and it feels like proof she's here to stay. "Fuck," he breathes.

She positions herself over him and for a moment he can't even think as she slides down, hot and wet and tight and perfect. He's never felt anything like it, and when he opens his eyes again, he can see _her_ , and it's somehow even better.

"You should tell me when you're getting close," she says, rolling her hips in a way that makes it very difficult to listen to her. "I'd rather not get pregnant right away, if it's all the same to you. We've barely had any time to ourselves." She grins. "Well, not the kind of time I'd like."

He manages a few shaky breaths. "Whatever you want," he says, fumbling to pull her down for a messy kiss.

"At least you're easy to please," she teases, and starts to move more quickly.

It doesn't take long, takes less time than it's ever taken before, and he only barely manages to get her off him and wrap his fingers around himself before he's coming himself, groaning out her name.

Clarke tucks herself against his side, and leans into her. "Was that all right?" he asks. "Did it--was it good?"

She laughs and kisses his shoulder. "Stop worrying, Bellamy." She tucks in closer. "It is better if it lasts a little longer," she admits. "But from what I heard from married friends, that kind of thing can be practiced. And I got plenty of enjoyment from your hands. If I'm unsatisfied, you can be sure I'll tell you." There's a pause. "But now that you mention it, if you _wanted_ to try using your mouth--"

He laughs and kisses her again. "This is why I asked," he teases, and lets her pull him back on top of her.

*

Bellamy has a lot of trouble getting out of bed the next morning; Clarke is still asleep, arms wrapped around him, naked breasts pressing into side. He's never going to want to get up, now that he knows she loves him too. He won't be able to let go of her.

But it's morning and he has things to do, cows to milk and eggs to collect and wood to chop.

Clarke is in the kitchen when he comes back from the barn, only half-dressed. Her hair is a mess around her shoulders, and he can see a few marks he left on her without meaning to.

She looks like she had the best wedding night of all time, if he does say so himself.

"Good morning," she says, smiling.

"That looks horrific," he says, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Were you trying to make something nice?"

"Yes," she says, scowling. "And you're going to eat it, too. I'm getting better."

"I keep telling you to just scramble the eggs."

"If I keep doing that I'll never learn anything new. Besides, we're married now. I don't have to impress you anymore."

He tightens his arms a little. "I thought we were married before," he points out. She opens her mouth to speak, but he goes on before she can. "I'm glad we weren't." He grins. "I always did worry about what you would have done if I hadn't suited you. It's good to know you could have left if you wanted."

"I could have left if we were actually married too," she says, prim. "Obviously I don't mind taking off when situations don't suit me."

Bellamy smiles and takes the skillet from her, attempting to save whatever it is she's been trying to make. Breakfast is her worst meal, by far. "But this situation suits you," he observes.

She kisses his jaw, tucking herself against his side. "It suits me fine, yes."


End file.
